


Life, the Universe and Other Annoyances

by Madlyie



Series: The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BrOTP Montparnasse and Gavroche, Cosette is too good for this world, F/M, M/M, Marius is a gem, Montparnasse is 2460done, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius is one a quest to find his One True Love, Grantaire and Courfeyrac are in a far too good mood since both of them are getting laid regularly and Bahorel might be a bit too unbothered by the recreational drug use in his kitchen.<br/>Montparnasse just wishes he would have never made the decision to work in a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life, the Universe and Other Annoyances

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. This. Again. You can thank [just french me up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/) for 'Parnasse getting high' ideas which is why this happened. Enjoy. ♥

 

***

 

It’s not that Montparnasse hates people who talk. Everyone talks, it’s kind of inevitable, sadly. He just hates people who talk _too much_ and if he sometimes considers two words too much then well, everyone has the right to their own opinion, freedom of mind, bla bla, some idealistic bullshit, whatever.

So when on a Tuesday morning a lanky, dishevelled young man who looks like he’s about twenty but has an air about him that makes him seem more like fifteen bursts through the door of the coffee shop, steps up to the counter and starts talking… Well, it’s just Montparnasse’s civil right to absolutely despise him.

“Hey, hello, good morning, I’m looking for Courfeyrac, is he here? He said he’d be here, I mean he said so yesterday when he left so I don’t know, I just really, really need to talk to him, it’s important, I met the love of my life!”

Montparnasse stares at him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

That at least makes the guy pause. Or maybe he just needed to breathe.

“I’m… I’m Marius?”

Montparnasse debates feeling sorry for him for a moment because of the atrocity of a jacket he’s wearing but decides to add it to the list of detestable qualities.

“Is that a question?”

“Uhm… no?” he asks.

Montparnasse doesn't even blink.

“I’m…,” Stupid-Jacket starts again but wisely stops at the look on Montparnasse’s face. “I’m just going to… wait.” He doesn’t move.

Montparnasse pointedly nods his head at the table furthest away.

“O-over there?”

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response.

He might tell him later that Courfeyrac texted Bahorel that he was going to be late ten minutes ago but only if he stopped being obnoxious until then.

Even though wearing that jacket already could be counted as obnoxious so yeah. Probably not.

The door of the kitchen opens and Bahorel steps out with a tray full of tiny pink cupcakes and a wide grin.

“Hey Parnasse, there’s someone for you at the backdoor? Brandon something? Told him you don’t sell weed on Tuesdays but he’s kind of too stoned to realize it’s Tuesday.”

“Dammit Brad,” Montparnasse mutters under his breath.

Bahorel’s eyes fall on dishevelled stupid-jacket guy.

“Marius!” he greets with absolute no volume control. “My man, how’s it going dude?”

When Marius opens his mouth Montparnasse retreats as fast as he can.

A stoned college kid suddenly seems like a far better option.

And it’s only 8am.

Montparnasse hates his fucking job.

 

***

 

An hour later Courfeyrac has arrived and with him Combeferre - what at that point doesn’t even remotely surprises anyone anymore - and stupid-jacket guy named Marius still hasn’t left.

He hasn’t even left the counter.

He sits next to Combeferre who is lucky enough to be on the very end of the list of people Montparnasse has the urge to stab and/or strangle right then, and _talks._

Montparnasse now knows all about the mystery woman Marius saw once who is obviously the love his very, very sad, despicable life. His only consolation is envisioning scenarios where that terrible jacket is torn into shreds or burned in the pits of hell.

It’s therapeutic.

Courfeyrac holds Combeferre’s hand like the most precious thing on earth and his eyes look actually fond where they rest on Marius.

Montparnasse has never pretended to understand him.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” Marius says for the umpteenth time.

“Yes,” Montparnasse says.

“It doesn’t,” Courfeyrac says at the same time and tries glaring at him but Courfeyrac is shit at glaring so Montparnasse just shrugs unimpressed.

“ _I_ knew from the moment this one walked into the room,” Courfeyrac says looking at Combeferre and Montparnasse stifles the urge to gag.

“Did your heart went boom?” Grantaire asks from the floor.

He looks a little less hungover right now but Montparnasse is still sure he slept through at least two-thirds of the conversation, the lucky bastard.

“Sure it was you and not your boner?” Bahorel shouts from the kitchen.

“Badum tsss,” Grantaire comments.

Courfeyrac is too shameless to blush.

Combeferre’s face is blank until his mouth curls up into a lopsided smile that’s very close to a smirk and shrugs.

“I’ll take both,” he says and dammit, Montparnasse always forgets how smooth he can be. It’s the cardigans, for sure. No one suspects a man in cardigans of anything.

Courfeyrac looks like he’s forgotten as well. For a moment his face is so full of adoration that Montparnasse is surprised he doesn’t burst with it, then he grabs Combeferre by the front of his perfectly white button-up and pulls him in pressing their mouth together.  

Marius squeaks.

Montparnasse leans forward to put a hand in front of his eyes.

He can’t help it. The guy looks like fourteen.

Grantaire grins at him from the floor.

He’s too slow to move away when Montparnasse kicks him in the shin.

He hopes it hurts.

  
***

 

At the beginning Montparnasse thought that Enjolras and Grantaire were easier to stand as a couple. Not easy. Just easier.

But it turned out fairly quickly that resolved unresolved sexual tension leaves _just_ sexual tension and that’s not exactly better.

Especially when someone’s idea of flirting is increasingly loud arguing and topics like the surveillance state and internalized racism are considered dirty talk.

After ‘arguments’ like this the kitchen is closed for the public except for when Bahorel makes Montparnasse walk in on them on purpose which he does. Often and with a shit-eating grin that makes Montparnasse insult his new waistcoat in return because he can’t punch him in the face when he’s at work.

It’s not even satisfying because Bahorel’s taste in fashion is actually impecable.

God, Montparnasse hates that guy.

The door opens and Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac enter. Courfeyrac heads into the kitchen to grab his apron and Combeferre heads into the direction of their usual table with a simple nod at Montparnasse in greeting. Montparnasse lets himself be carried away into nodding in return.

“Hey dickface,” Grantaire sing-songs when Enjolras and his headache-inducing jacket make their way over to the counter.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “”You like my face.”

Montparnasse pities him for furnishing that fit occasion.

“I like your -”

“No. Just, no.”

Grantaire grins widely and Montparnasse has to give Enjolras that, it’s a more common sight lately.

The blonde man leans over the counter and quickly pecks Grantaire on the lips. When he leans back it’s only an inch, with a soft look in his blue eyes. They look at each other for a few seconds, then Enjolras leans back in. The second kiss is longer and neither of them seems to notice when Montparnasse pointedly clears his throat because he’s right _there_ and saliva exchange in the morning doesn’t make him any less nauseous, oh my god.

The obnoxious jingle of the doorbell is actually relief for once but only for the second until he realizes it’s the stupid-jacket wearing redhead. Again.

Montparnasse looks longingly at the clock on the wall counting down the minutes to his lunch break.

Too many.

Way too many.

 

***

 

Marius becomes a regular.

Montparnasse’s life was a hell lot more bearable when he had been blissfully oblivious to the fact Courfeyrac even _has_ a roommate.

 

***

 

Gavroche is perched up on a chair next to the counter with a cocoa Montparnasse made for him and a cupcake Bahorel had slid over from where he rearranges the pastries around his new load of chocolate muffins.

He simply grins when Montparnasse glares at him.

Gavroche grins too but Montparnasse is not going to punch a kid.

Or maybe, he thinks when Marius bursts in, red-faced and beaming.

Never a good sign.

“Hey,” he says, “”Hey, hey, hey, you are not going to believe what happened today!”

“What?” Bahorel asks sweetly and Montparnasse takes a very deep breath.

“I saw her again! In the park, she was with her dad! Or I think it was her dad, I don’t know. Anyway, they sat on a bench and I sat on another bench and I when they left she, she looked up and she _smiled_ at me, can you believe it? She smiled! It was, I can’t even describe it, it was like -”

“Stop,” Montparnasse interrupts him because he can’t guarantee that something won’t happen if he has to listen to a simile about suns or stars or some other sentimental bullshit. “Hate to break it to you but that’s fucking creepy Marvin.”

“Marius,” says Marius.

“Martin,” Montparnasse starts. “Really, I don’t care enough about you to be bothered by any of this but I’m in a good mood today because you’re only the second person I want to stab in the throat so let me give you some much needed advice: Stalking is not attractive. Stop believing everything you’ve read in Twilight, it’s called fiction for a reason.”

Admittedly, a lot of words but Marius’ face makes it absolutely worth it.

 

***

 

Montparnasse prides himself in having an exquisite taste meaning he’s a very selective character.

For example, he is very selective when it comes to choosing the people he gets high with. He has a good reason for it, a reason so good that in the end it’s actually only one person.

It’s close to midnight when he sits in the kitchen of the coffee shop and passes the joint over to Jehan while idly playing with the tips of the poet’s braid as they wax something about some avantgarde poetry shit and for once he doesn’t feel any urge to stab someone in the near future.

That changes when the door opens abruptly.

Grantaire and Bahorel looks slightly confused and slightly more drunk.

Then Grantaire’s face breaks into a grin.

“Told you!” he says not elaborating what he means but Bahorel grins as well.

“I hope you guys have room for some motherfucking brownies!”

 

***

 

Half an hour later the kitchen is full of people and Montparnasse doesn’t know how exactly it happened but suddenly he sits next to Marius and Jehan on the kitchen counter and the reason why he doesn’t get high with other people seems very, very far away.

So yeah, at that points it seems like a good idea to shift a little towards Marius, careful not to shove off Jehan’s legs resting on his thighs.

“Matthew,” he starts.

“Marius.”

“Anthony.”

“That’s not even close,” Jehan comments around a mouthful of brownie. They’re good brownies. Montparnasse might hate Bahorel a little less for now.

He sighs. “Mason, you know what?”

“Uhm, what?” Mario looks slightly terrified.

Montparnasse sighs again and reaches out to pat his freckled arm. He’s not wearing that hideous jacket. That’s good. It makes him a couple of percent less despicable.

Or maybe that’s the drugs.

“Your face,” Montparnasse says generously, “Is not so bad. You have a good face.”

Michael’s confused expression is joined by a blush. “Thank you?”

Jehan nods in earnest and agreement. “And so polite.”

“Motherfucking wanker -,” Bahorel starts and Courfeyrac shoves half of a brownie into his mouth before he can continue.

Montparnasse was too distracted by inspecting the freckles on Morgan’s arm to know what happened but Grantaire’s grin indicated it’s his fault somehow.

Enjolras sits next to him on the floor, one arm around Grantaire’s waist and yay, it’s obviously avoid-all-tacky-jackets-day.

What increases Montparnasse’s mood greatly.

Really.

He’s in a great mood.

It’s great.

He slides from the kitchen counter in an admittedly pretty fluid motion for his current state and sits down in front of Enjolras and Grantaire.

“You,” Montparnasse starts. Grantaire looks curious. Enjolras looks sober. Good.

Montparnasse smiles at him.

His facial muscles protest a little.

“I don’t understand your relationship but he’s happy with you, happier than before so don’t fuck it up or I’ll make a handbag out of your skin and sell it as a Gucci knock-off on a flea market.”

Everything is silent until Courfeyrac starts applauding.

“That - That was beautiful, really, incredible.” There are a few tears in his eyes. “Terrifying, but beautiful.”

Montparnasse nods humbled as he stands up again. He walks over to where Courfeyrac leans against Combeferre’s side because he suddenly has a very, very good idea. Another good idea. So many good ideas. The night was a great idea.

He steps in front of a silently amused looking Combeferre and pulls him into a hug.

He startles at first, then hugs him back.

Montparnasse sighs.

A very good idea.

“I knew you looked like you give good hugs.”

Combeferre gently pats his shoulder.

“Oh. My. God,” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre lifts an arm to pull Courfeyrac into the hug too. Montparnasse lets it happen for a couple of moments and snakes an arm around Courfeyrac’s waist and pats his side before pulling away again.

“Alright, but I’m not down for a threesome.”

Courfeyrac chokes on thin air and Combeferre only laughs.

 

***

 

He doesn’t remember how he gets home that night but he remembers dancing with Jehan to Bahorel’s rendition of some Abba song and thinks, it was a good night.

 

***

 

Montparnasse regrets his entire existence the very next morning.

Courfeyrac, surprisingly awake, grins at him with an otherworldly level of triumph when he opens the door two minutes before the shift starts.

“Do you want a hug?”

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t think you’re such a good hugger.”

“Shut up.”

“And really, you get touchy feely when you’re high?”

He knew, he _knew_ there was a reason he doesn’t get high with other people.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says matter-of-factly.

Courfeyrac doesn’t look impressed. “But then Ferre wouldn’t hug you anymore.”

“Slowly.”

 

***

 

The next week is probably the most horrible of Montparnasse’s life.

He considers converting to some weird ass religion to beg for forgiveness when Marius tries to tell him, very earnestly, that he has a good face too.

Grantaire doesn’t even stop looking smug when Montparnasse kicks him.

Bahorel is not much more unbearable than usually but he’s the bane of Montparnasse’s existence anyway.

 

***

 

The only bright spot is when a little into his morning shift on Tuesday a young woman comes in.

Montparnasse has a type of favourite customers.

Quiet, efficient and well-dressed.

It’s not too much to ask, he thinks.

The woman says, “Hello,” and, “A caramel latte, please,” and that’s it. She’s wearing an emerald green dress with a lace collar that compliments her skin tone and blonde hair that’s tied up in a high ponytail. Her eyeliner is sharply, impressingly on point.

When Montparnasse comes back with her order she simply says, “I like your shoes.”

And because he’s wearing his favourite pair of designer combat boots and it sounds as much as a fact than a compliment Montparnasse says, “I like your dress.”

She smiles and leaves.

Two days later she’s back with a hello, an order for a caramel latte and an “I like your rings.” Montparnasse returns an “I like your bag.”

The third time she shows up he starts with, “I like your coat.”

Her smile is just a little bit wider. “I like your nails.”

Black.

“I’m Cosette,” she says.

“Montparnasse.”

 

***

 

The fourth times she comes around Montparnasse considers her a regular. Maybe after the last three newly acquired ones he has been granted a break.

 

***

 

Cosette is not annoying which is a very big plus of her character.

Montparnasse might even be able to stand her, from time to time, and he only admits to being able to stand three people, namely Gavroche, Éponine and Jehan, and only on good days.

Sometimes she waits with her latte until he has his break.

Brad likes her. Or maybe he’s just stoned. But Montparnasse somehow thinks it’s the first.

She gets on with Bahorel though which is a definite minus but he supposes she gets on with everyone so he’s not sure he can hold it against her.

 

***

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are being cute and gross in one corner of the coffee shop while Courfeyrac is on his break and Enjolras and Grantaire are doing their weird and gross argument-flirting in another corner.

They’re too en _gross_ ed to notice Cosette when she shows up around midday and Montparnasse is glad because he would never be able to live it down being somewhat tolerable to a customer that isn’t Gavroche.

He compliments her shoes, she compliments his shirt and buys Gavroche a chocolate muffin before she leaves even though she knows very well someone would have given him one at one point anyway.

Jehan sends him a selfie of them and their cactii.

It’s not the _worst_ day.

That is until only a minute later a completely dazed looking Marius bursts through the door looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

He doesn’t even make it to Courfeyrac, only to the counter before he starts word-vomiting.

“Oh my god Parnasse, I saw her!” Montparnasse wonders when he has mistaken him for a friend. Or interested. He doesn’t seem to wonder the same thing. “Well, not here, on the other side of the road just now but then she, she was gone, but it was her, I would recognize her anywhere. Anywhere.”

Montparnasse glances at Gavroche who glances back.

“Say,” Gavroche starts, “Malcolm.”

Montparnasse is so proud of him.

“Marius,” says Marius.

“Marco, how does she look like, your girl there.”

“She’s, she’s not _my_ girl. She’s her own person” Marius says and huh. Montparnasse is a little bit surprised. Then Marius gets all doe-eyed and immediately enters annoying-territory again. “She’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful, like an angel, really, ethereal.”

Montparnasse winces.

Gavroche raises an eyebrow pulls it off to look incredibly unfazed for a twelve year old. He has been taught well. “Could you be a tad more specific there? Like, hair colour...?”

“Oh, oh yes, blonde. Like -”

“Alright, got it. Blonde. Did she maybe wear a dress, like dark red with those white dots?”

Marius whole face lights up like an american suburban house on Christmas. “Yes! How do you know that?”

Gavroche slowly takes a bite off his muffin.

“Oh she was here about two minutes ago.”

Right then Marius looks like he’s having an aneurism and for a moment Montparnasse allows himself to imagine the world in which he would.

 

***

 

The next time Cosette comes around Gavroche asks around a mouthful of lemon curd cheesecake, “Hey Cosette, you got a boyfriend?”

Montparnasse considers taking the plate away from him but he grips it tight with his hand as if he knows what he’s thinking. He probably does. Bloody smart twelve year olds.

Cosette seems surprised but she’s not too insufferable about it.

She doesn’t blush or stutter or becomes a gross, love-struck zombie. Which is a welcome change.

Finally a good one.

“Well, no,” she says thoughtfully but then a smile turns up the corner of her mouth. “But there’s this boy I see sometimes, in the park, you know. He’s very sweet.”

Then she turns to Montparnasse.

“And what about you? Bahorel and you christened the kitchen yet?”

He takes it back, everything.

There’s no goodness left in the world.

Gavroche and Cosette high five and Montparnasse glares at them both as he tries not to gag.

 

***

 

Marius flops down onto a chair at the counter and sighs like all the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Courfeyrac looks kind of proud at his increasingly dramatic tendencies.

Marius pulls out his books and starts studying, sometimes stops to stare into the distance or his vanilla latte with whipped cream and sprinkles with a deep sigh.

After ten, twenty minutes Montparnasse bites down onto his lip and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his pants and fires off a quick text.

When he looks up Courfeyrac stares at him wide-eyes.

“Are you… texting?!”

“You never text,” Grantaire states curiously.

Courfeyrac looks incredulous. “I don’t even have your number. I didn’t even know you had a phone!”

Montparnasse rolls his eyes at them. “I don’t need your selfies,” he tells Courfeyrac, then turns to Grantaire, “ _Or_ your memes.”

“You know what, I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

“What the hell? My selfies are a fucking delight, okay?” Courfeyrac pulls out his phone, a monstrosity in a glitter cat case, snaps a selfie and quickly types something. A couple of seconds later there's a beep and he grins triumphantly. “Ferre thinks they’re a delight.”

Another beep. “Oh look, he send one back!”

Suddenly his face goes suspiciously red. “Or you know what, don’t look. That’s… excuse me.” He takes his phone and practically runs away into the kitchen.

Montparnasse shivers and tries to put all the disgust he’s feeling into the look he sends after him.

The door opens with that annoying sound of the oh so fucking sweet little bell which usually makes Montparnasse want to vomit into the next best person’s coffee.

Cosette steps in wearing a dark blue chemise dress with a white collar and pastel stockings and a smile. “Hey, you sent-,” she starts, then stops right where she stands in the open door.

Marius looks up from his book.

It’s almost comical how his eyes widen, how he stumbles to his feet and never looks away. She doesn’t as well.

Maybe angels are singing somewhere when they walk towards one another, Montparnasse wouldn’t be surprised.

He sighs greatly.

“You big ol’ sap,” Grantaire says with a grin that blasts the scale of obnoxious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope.”

“I hate you. I hate all of you.”

“Aw.”

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> So... next on, Joly, Bossuet and Chetta, what do you think? I’m having way too much fun with this AU. Feel free to come and talk to be about Parnasse and gross idiots in love on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee (Series)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988976) by [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle)




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